Two Moons is a new novel by J. Raymond Ractliffe that explores the inner spirit life of Africa, her people and their powerful faith in the world of the Unseen.
There is no darkness like the African night. Like a smoldering blanket made of arid hardwood smoke and the choking dust cast by a million hoofed feet lingering in mid air, velvet black and penetrating, it comes over the sun scorched land like a swollen river to engulf sound, dust and the crying dreams of men.
With the coming of this great darkness, when the red sun lies low, pale and weakened on the horizon and the rising new moon fights hard to take her place in the stars, they live side by side in the low heavens in a time known as the Two Moons.
The Spirits of Africa are born in this grey twilight. Bloodied and made mad by their wars, they roam freely, riding the endless hot winds, searching for man or beast to quench their need to play.
They hunt the blistered land, some no taller than carved footstools; they carry worn bloody axes over their shoulders as they search for lost souls to quench their thirst. Others, like the dry wind, they come like smoke and enter unsuspecting minds and frightened bodies, revealing themselves through the steady and unblinking stare of the possessed. Their innocent victims become demons, barking and snarling, they terrorize the local people, commanding them to obey. Neither sleeplessness nor hunger wilting their strength.
Stories have come from old, before the recording of time; of lions and hungry beasts seized by these spirits. The killing of villagers, the missing children stolen in the night from their mother's arms, with no trail to follow of their passing. Hyenas that stalk frightened men in the thick and darkened underbrush, jeering and laughing, mocking and calling out their names. Blood curling cries mixed with fear and dread, of men who die standing in their own urine without seeing their patient stalkers. Death already in their minds and done before the final merciful strike that ends their shivering fear and pain.
Of Man, lives and destinies become the ultimate game. Painted and carved bones thrown by an ageless hand reveals their futures, or, the same bones cast are rearranged to suit a pleasure. Moved like chess pieces over time and the earth, each struggling life from the womb is remoulded, sculptured and fashioned to create a Delight. Maimed limbs and crippled empty minds all that is left of the innocent.
Spirits of Africa, some have called them the "Angry Children of the Moon." They do not measure the strength of a man, nor his courage, honour or the love he has for his land and wife. They care not for who is worthy of life, or even merciful death.
What is not destroyed is controlled and possessed. What is controlled and possessed belongs to them.
Dark. Angry. Vengeful. They come with many names, for they are without numbers. They have lived here long before the footprints of man left their tell tale sign in the wind swept sands. They were here when the earth was but the birthplace of all dreams and for some, the birthplace of all nightmares.
Africa's heartbeat lies not in the golden cities; built on the mud brick of gold and diamonds or the trade of slaves and cured wild meat in the marketplace. Or the war ravaged plains stained with the blood between her rival peoples and their Chiefs.
It is in the battles and shadows cast during the Two Moons, the true Africa is revealed. Blind to the sufferings of her people, she crowns her victors and scatters the dried bones of the humbled and defeated.
Not to be mindful of her and her pleasures and the manner in which she plays, is to lose your destiny before it begins.
Africa is her playground of what cannot be seen nor understood. Believe in her and survive.
Mistake her silence that she is not in your midst, and be warned.
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